The Bible Belt Bachelor Beat, The Prison Speech (2005) Poetry by David L O’Nan

versions of this are in my books and also published in slightly altered versions on the Cajun Mutt Press site during a Saturday Feature. These came from a book I was working on in 2005 in which I didn’t finish and threw together poems as a result.

The Bible Belt Bachelor Beat

So now the beat was out on the streets again,
Darkness hears the soul’s tears burning within.
Finding home wearing the sadness coat.
Fighting a love affair with a knife wielding holy ghost.
My beautiful girl is at rest, wasting away
She is staring into the darkness – Of this evening’s shade
The horror calls from across the halls,
They were deafening, my silence proved too late
So now I know, how the death bell tolls
I seek revenge, I fuel myself with scorn and hate
To take apart, the crooked heart
Who severed my soul, magician of greed and loath?
Reincarnate myself into the heroin, the addiction
The power rose, the mighty lion, the sorcerer,
The dictator, the cult king
The need to be disillusioned
The creation was to be crazy,
To break apart with newly found powerful hands,
That used to be so gentle.
So fragile and weak,
When I used to touch her cheek
The morning like a celestial daydream,

The haze of fog
Sipped her tears,
When she began to cry
The dryness,
Like a desert for sad brown eyes
This germ will not run, cannot hide
Cannot mutate, I know that I can design
The perfect plan, the perfect kill
Alas, I may become dirt on the way
Dear God, knowing however
His bones are already chilled
Spirits have cried, they dry, they fly
They live in my heart, for my love
That was taken by the evil in a wild heart.

The Bible Belt Bachelor Prison Speech


To all that have been captured
We are breathing the same chipped paint walls,
Yellow urine stained floors, pneumonia air.

The air of a criminal
Locked up, prison guards whistling our death tune.
Death will be coming soon.

We’re already dead in a sense.
Nature is outside, designed for the free man

On a warm sun-lit sand.
The touch of lovers, the natural consumption of lust.
In my cell asleep with the poetry –
I felt when I was one with the free
When I wasn’t practicing bullets
Setting fire to Mother Nature and to faith.
When blizzard walks exuded freedom.
Through the snow chills devouring my feet
With numbing, cutting skin
The pain of past freedom
My name is Dante Moricelli
Her name was Nadine Angelis
You might have read about me
In your wrinkled newspapers, Slippery
phlegm gazettes

The glossy excitement of a Time Magazine.
The mortality sonnet depicting the surrealism in a slippery dream.
Nadine Angelis was my love as the tender years began to fade.
Young, careless, we were the storybook tale of the unsaved.
I will tell you more about my love,
If your ears are tuned to listen “Must
we have a heart, we never listened
before?” “Must we have ears,
To be attentive to your listless self-loathing?” “Must our
maniacal spirit be all and sundry To your hopeless
“Are we peasants to your pulpit?”
“You, bleeding your cold love propaganda in our troglodytic tomb”
“Interrupting the carving of our minds with a fever
That comes from watching roaches scurry down prison floors, Spiders climbing up our
shirts, flies and decay consuming our food”
“Marking x’s on our calendars with our life force fluid,
The countdown to our demise: the foregone conclusion”
But I am a human heartbeat
I was a 5-year bachelor that fell on hard times,
The loss of reasonable thinking,
And a self-confessed stalker of love
So, if what I’m about to tell you –
Were the opening of a movie
The song “Let There Be More Light” Would be
resonant, magnetic to the ears
Illuminating, flashing of lights from psychedelic trips of torture
The horrified manic looks,
As we drive erratically down a desert road.
Passing cacti and breathing in dry arid air
The sun setting down to a dark orange/bright red hell.

The flashes of a nearly perfect capture lay –
In the trunk of a Pontiac Sunbird.
The music, the music like soundwaves to our mind.
We can see the sound
We have become the sound
We have become the light
Passing by leather skinned lizards with masochistic claws,

Wanting to give you one more bite in the jugular before – The eternal
damnation of our soul’s ease.
The serpents black flickering tongue – Spreads
over the heavens
With a Hallelujah Chrysalis of poisoned tears.
We, looking for an escape to find peace again
But, knowing the only written word of our future is that of a Eulogy.
A eulogy given by family members who didn’t know us well enough
to care before.

All because of espionage and jealousy.
And the loss of love that wasn’t understood quickly enough.
The burning of a desert,
The scarring on the face of Mona Lisa
The victim that lay in his own bloodletting on torn towels – and
shredded t-shirts.
With the rips, that remind us
The struggle it was
The determination in us that caused our perfect lunacy to this near
perfect kill.
His false hopes of spiritual happiness
And wellbeing exposed
by his crooked cross on a cut chest.

Even though I’m terrified by the outcome.
As sheriffs, detectives, specialists all pace faster and faster behind our car
of forlorn sin.

The electricity already beginning to pop in our veins! The multiple
trips are scary, long, and all indicative
That we had almost masterminded the perfect crime.

So, now the collapsing rollercoaster ride has ended.
The song has ended.
Let me tell you how we came to this plunge into ridicule and reverie.
I’m Dante Moricelli “the Bible Belt Bachelor”
The name they stamped on me,
I’ve lost all identity and dignity now
I’m just a title, less of a man.
Because I erased a man from existence
Who deserved to die.
He took away the root to my soul,
My dear Nadine Angelis
She made my heart feel, She
made my blood pump
And he twisted my mind into only one way of thinking,
Left me with the confusion

Much like after an aneurysm
The pounding, splitting shards of glass as well
shakes to the wild howls of coyotes.

Releasing small increments of mania.

“Before the Bridges Fell” by me David L O’Nan Poetry book is out today on Cajun Mutt Press

Available Now: Before I Turn Into Gold Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology by David L O’Nan & Contributors w/art by Geoffrey Wren

Bending Rivers: The Poetry & Stories of David L O’Nan out now!

Fevers of the Mind founder bio: David L O’Nan (WolfPack Contributor)

National Poetry Month: David L O’Nan reading “They Had Sadness In Their Eyes (Like In Littleton) from new book Before the Bridges Fell – poetry for your copy of “Before the Bridges Fell”

“Before the Bridges Fell” by me David L O’Nan Poetry book is out today on Cajun Mutt Press

Before the Bridges Fell is a series of poetry based on characters that are scrambling to figure out life before the inevitable destruction of their towns, their ideals, fantasy worlds, fame of past figures that seemed to work so well to influence and shape today’s world. Before the Bridges Fell and what is unknown is always in the back of your head, and you are still expected to life your life without worry, hardly. That unknowing is always there. The script isn’t fully written, and so the improvisation of our everyday lives can be scary. is the link on Amazon!

Please read my debut poetry book with Cajun Mutt Press. Full of prose, stories, poetry that digs deep in imagery. Influenced by Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath, Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Townes Van Zandt, Bruce Springsteen, Joni Mitchell, Jack Kerouac, Marissa Nadler, Johnny Cash, Richard Brautigan, Langston Hughes and much more. Praise blurbs from Gail Crowther author of “Three-Martini Afternoons at the Ritz” poets Kushal Poddar, Robin McNamara, Robert Frede-Kenter, musicians Ron Sexsmith, Austin Lucas

If you like this book go back and read my independent collections “Bending Rivers” “Lost Reflections” “The Famous Poetry Outlaws are Painting Walls and Whispers” my Leonard Cohen Anthologies “Before I Turn Into Gold” and “Avalanches in Poetry” and the whole Fevers of the Mind Anthologies. Currently 5 volumes.

Fevers of the Mind founder bio: David L O’Nan (WolfPack Contributor)

Now Available From Cajun Mutt Press — Cajun Mutt Press

Now Available from Cajun Mutt Press, Before the Bridges Fell by David O’Nan!! Before the Bridges Fell is a series of poetry based on characters that are scrambling to figure out life before the inevitable destruction of their towns, their ideals, fantasy worlds, fame of past figures that seemed to work so well to influence […]

Now Available From Cajun Mutt Press — Cajun Mutt Press

Official Release Date for Before the Bridges Fell by me (David L O’Nan) on Cajun Mutt Press

Before the Bridges Fell will be releasing on March 15th on Cajun Mutt Press. Poems included will be Narcissism Taxi Cab Parades, Black Jackets and Boneless, They Had Sadness in their Eyes (Like in Littleton), Remembering Carol Anderson, The Fevers of the Mind Inspire Artwork Series, They Are Running My Prints, Scattered Christmas Garbage, Those Hazels They Slice, Living In This Toxic Coalmine, Everyone is Kerouac, The Devil’s Beach Sonnets, Radio Ghosts, A Coffee Shop Chronicle, Fumbles Through the Cloverleafs (Like Gerard Malanga), A Pond full of Stars, In 1961…In 1961, By Our Well, Rumors of Candles, Circles in the Puddles for Jehovah, Villa, Flowers for Jordanna, The War is Like Honey in Holiday Lights, Miles Away from the Las Vegas Eyeball, Backyard Barbie Dolls, 41 Candles, Heartbreak by the Seashore (inspired by Audrey Hepburn), For the Creation of Katie, Oil Trough, Moving the Needle, Midnight Angel, East Orange Hospital, Bobby and Edie, Bury Me as a Chrysalis, I Was Hanging Onto the Fox, Opium Den Horses, Smallpox Vaccine, The Haunting of Saint Robert, Rattlesnakes, Crossing Your Legs at the Church at Wasson, Faux Warhola, Archaic Motorcycle Breath, The Severance of Your Genius (In Little Papercuts), By the Almond Tree, Frothy Landscapes, Lipstick Sunset, Prudence of Anguish, My Black Dahlia Poison Caterpillar, The Flood We Drank in ’38, The Algebra of Broken Mirrors, Burning that Cherry Wood Door, …And I Will Burn Down the New Circus, Blue Jay on the Corner, As a Couple of Passengers, Winding Roads to Felicity, and Claudette Dying.

Here is some praise from various poets & musicians whom have read the book.

“Enter the shadow realms of the creative imagination. Embrace the logic of surrealism, of waking dreams, of hallucination. Sing the poem songs of delusion, pain, struggle, suffering, desire, exultation. Turn back the cover, crawl into BEFORE THE BRIDGES FELL, and enjoy the brilliant poetry of David L O’Nan.” – Ron Whitehead (U.S. National Beat Poet Laureate)

David L O’ Nan’s dreamscapes in Before the Bridges Fell begin and end with a wild incantatory mythic tone: the book opens w/a hitchhiker, an internal monologist-Cassandra, a prophet journeying thru small town America. We enter w/them into a shotgun ride through Hell. With a visionary sensibility that never lets up, whether it’s broken nostalgia, the neon memories of punk or mid-west beats & NYC dreamers, this book is a responsive mix, its pop-inflected ballads, flash-surreal gorgeously stimulating epics pummeling the frontal cortex and the rear-view mirror of the reader’s brain.

O’Nan perfects a highly personal image-repertoire, including the balladic, to entertain dark, indie-infused jagged tales of ecstatic & failed love. Poet & short story writer, publisher, photographer, O’Nan’s work emits a howling phosphorescent, Dylanesque rock-n-roll bardic presence, taking us a step or three further along saturated highways with poetic raconteurs soaked in their pharma-dystopic imaginations.

Vast, jagged, oracular, these are stories-as-song, of a nightmarish-Americana, cold, yet somehow hopeful, the propulsive experiments asking, how is it that a vengeance of truths can capture what it means today to live beyond salvation’s increasing twisted reach.

–  Robert Frede Kenter, author of EDEN (Floodlight Editions), publisher & EIC  Ice Floe Press,

“David scrivens sparks and flickers, and if you, the reader, add your wind of imagination to those the result will be a constant fire, passionate and bright. His poetry is the song of passion, cultured from both inner and outer worlds.” Kushal Poddar, author of eight books

Before the Bridges Fell by David L. O’Nan traces a path across seasons, feelings, and experiences such as loss, memory, love and takes place on hot sidewalks, in snow, and under sunsets. O’Nan creates an emotional as well as a geographical landscape with piercing, sensitive language. In one poem he sees the sun fall into a pond full of stars and this aptly sums up this volume – a pond full of glittering poetic gems. – Gail Crowther author of Three-Martini Afternoons at the Ritz: The Rebellion of Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton

“I’ve always been a little intimidated by poets. As a songwriter, I’ve personally never written that wasn’t meant to be sung, though I do feel at times that some of my lyrics have approached poetry (at least from a distance) So reading through the poems in this new collection by David L O’Nan I am once again in awe of the process because it is such a gift to be be able to articulate such pangs of truth. There seems to be a certain free flowing or perhaps “stream of consciousness” element as if the words have been carried up from the basement in a box that hasn’t been opened for years, or like a whirlwind of leaves that you see sometimes in an alley. You can take your time with a poem, you can linger on a line forever before pressing on. Because there’s a bell of truth that rings and resonates in your mind and in your hear till all at once you understand but not always so literally. Somehow the whole experience makes our shared loneliness less lonely” – Ron Sexsmith (musician)

David L O’Nan’s poetry reads like the American landscape. Filled with hope, passion and despair. If you like Charles Bukowski then you’ll like these poems. A very relevant poet in today’s indifference to mankind’s suffering and abandonment. There is a strange kind of comfort, a familiarity within the poems like: 

Living in This Toxic Coalmine with the opening lines:

‘There are fields that no one wants to breathe There is a reality in which we cannot be.’

A Coffee Shop Chronicle has the beautiful Bukowski-style lines:

‘She’d drink vodka until 3 A.M. after

Saturday night excursions. She had men

howling for her and laughing at watered down jokes.

She could play violin like Alice Hartoncourt, with the beauty of the moonchild spirit.’

A highly relevant poet for the times we live in who paints an Edward Hopperesque canvas across the pages with his words. Highly recommended. – Robin McNamara author of “Under a Mind’s Staircase” with Hedgehog Press

a great writer, his poems are beautiful in their form and composition. – Austin Lucas (musician)

Fevers of the Mind founder bio: David L O’Nan (WolfPack Contributor)

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